Well, of course! He could conduct an interview and ask a series of exactly the right sort of questions! T'would be much less complicated than attending yet another luncheon, another boring tea or the corner of a crowded ball room trying to get to know someone in a public setting. The women always knew he was a Duke before he knew anything about who they were. They also seemed to know he was about to come into his full inheritance and clearly Aunt Regina had lent out too many details to those she considered privileged to his personal information; information he'd rather they'd not have been armed with. He didn't even discuss that sort of thing with his closest of friends. And regardless of his aunt playing the matchmaker, who ever heard of a Duke without a fortune? If he didn't find a wife and impregnate her quickly, he'd soon find himself the first of unfortunate Dukes of his generation among his circle of peers. There were not very many ducal estates in the England and word traveled fast when something happened to any one of the noblemen of his rank and standing, especially if it was something of a misfortune or a lost opportunity.
He looked out the window at endless patches of trees and meadows as the coach moved along at a steady and fairly rapid pace. Could he really get away with it? Could it work? Surely he'd have half a chance of finding an honest woman with this idea. He felt as though the Holy Spirit was speaking to him …. leading him. Just a still, small voice... It seemed perhaps a little unusual but he thought the odds were worth a try. He could not just send out invitations to an interview for marriage. No, he would have to place an advertisement in the paper like those mail order bride advertisements he'd chuckled about before... and as soon as possible.
He wished he'd thought of it before now. It all seemed so clear and simple now … a brilliant solution to his problem of finding a wife. “Much like selecting a governess,” he decided, talking to himself. One could gather a great deal of information in an interview. He could ask as many questions as he wished and based on the answers he received and the general tone of the interview, he could make his decision. He believed himself to be a good judge of character and attributes belonging to others.
There remained one very important matter upon his mind... how to choose a wife who would not be after his fortune and title? He argued with himself for a while but slowly came to a difficult decision on how he could test his future bride. He decided he would not reveal his title, at least not immediately. At heart, he considered himself a farmer. He would only reveal that for the time being. A month or two down the road when he felt more secure with someone... when he had established a relationship not based on material gain or social climbing, he could reveal more about himself. It would be a test of sorts that just might work. Did not Joseph test his brothers to see if they had changed after they'd betrayed him? Could he not find an honest wife in much the same manner? He could offer her an annulment if it didn't work out between them. Of course they wouldn't be able to have marital relations until they were certain of a suitable match, but otherwise, he saw no other way to find that a woman could truly love him just for him- without a fortune at her disposal.
He was weary of women who seemed to throw themselves at him. He had endured a great many flirtations and interest even from women he wasn't in the least interested. Once they knew he was a Duke, the behavior was always the same: swooning, flattery, encouragement and a general lack of decorum or an overdose of the same.
Some of his best thinking and praying he'd done with a pitch fork or an ax in his hands. He often dismounted a fine horse and a comfortable seat in the saddle to closely inspect the progress of crops. Presenting himself a farmer seemed the most natural thing to him in all the world. Farming was his heart.
Instead of dancing with one spoilt and immature girl after another in one ballroom after another, he might find someone who actually had a head on her shoulders and shared his deep faith in God-- someone who could perhaps offer him an equal sort of companionship. Love could come in time. His aunt had been right about that. If he found a woman with the right character, he would be at least headed in the right direction. God could send the right person in response to his advertisement. Of that fact, he was confident.
Quite content and most pleased with the solution to his dilemma, he rapped loudly and firmly on the ceiling of the coach with his walking stick to stop Jack Medley from continuing the journey without further instruction. Jack barely heard the tapping to stop the coach over the swift strides and clopping the galloping horses were making. William was rejoicing as the coach came to a halt (on the side of yet another country road) when he thought of the dreadfully boring balls, soirees and parties he would not have to attend. In fact, when he was married, he might find some of these events largely more enjoyable with a loving partner to put his arm around.
Hartford popped his head out the window and looked up at Jack Medley with a broad grin on his face, “Grosvenor Square--which I do not believe will alter your current eastward course! I have decided to stay at the London townhouse! Stop only to rest and water the horses.”
“Yes Sir, Your Grace! Grosvenor Square it is!” Jack repeated and tipped his hat as he nodded approvingly. He'd been driving the Duke since he was a wee lad and had a feeling that London would be their destination. Though he was none too happy he'd be driving through most of the day and part of the night while his Master slept, at least he now knew with certainty his instincts had been correct and they were headed in precisely the right direction. Where else would an eligible and handsome young bachelor want to go besides London?
Jack had to remind himself that this was Hartford (and not the younger brother, Lord Marcus) who he had commenced this journey forthwith, the latter being more aggressive with the ladies. Of course he would never dream of actually addressing His Grace as “William,” but in his mind, Jack remembered the Duke as being called William from hearing the boy's mother and father speak to him as a child. In fact, no one called the Duke “William” except his aunt, uncle and brother, and even they did so only occasionally. Everyone else addressed him as “Hartford” or “Duke” if they were of the peerage. If not, everyone else addressed him as “Your Grace.” Lord Marcus would have wanted the coach to drive west towards Lady Jenna's home, not far from Ivy Clifton. William would have wished the coach to drive in almost any direction but Jack's best guess was now the Season had ended, the Duke could tolerate London more amicably.
On this particular occasion, Jack's good sense had saved him considerable miles. He sat back in his seat and snapped the reigns once more with a clicking of his tongue, urging the coach forward on dusty roads where everything begged for rain.
This was precisely henceforth, how it came to be a fortnight later, the Duke found himself comfortably seated with a pile of letters beside an unlit but still cozy evening fireplace in his familial London townhouse, in his second floor bedroom. A great many arrangements had been made thus far and he had grown confident things were beginning to shape up according to plan in his quest for a wife.
A few days after his journey a letter had reluctantly, but dutifully, been dispatched by regular post to Aunt Regina to quell and diminish any worrying about his location on their part. As they had recently returned from an exhausting Season, they would not be expected to turn up in London anytime soon. It appeared to him he had the townhouse to his own devices for as long as he required. Lord Marcus, and no doubt his aunt, were busy with the diversion of having guests at Ivy Clifton Hall. Lady Jenna and sometimes the entire Bartlett family would call upon the Hartford family almost daily, on top of the visit from the Duncans. It should be a merry troop, as usual. His Aunt entertained frequently. He could not recall the exact dates of the length of Catherine's visit but he guessed her family intended to stay for at least a fortnight. When he didn't return in two weeks’ time, they would find some reason to stay until he did. This should distract his aunt and uncle for the time being while he conducted his private search for a bride.
He had yet to meet a woman who could fully spark his delight, awake
n his soul and captivate his complete interest. William knew he would require a woman of strong character. He had yet to find one though who wasn't head strong in all the wrong areas... and that perchance was at the helm of his troubles in selecting a bride. He felt he needed a bride who would be strong in her own right, with complexity and diversity to her personality ... a woman of virtue. He had no way of knowing at this point that if he found a wife who was very quiet and gentle, her demeanor would draw out a protectiveness in his character but he did suspect he would learn a great deal about himself in the process of becoming married.
He wished he had found someone special in his life before now... that perfect combination of grace and wit, charm and dignity, warmth and love, beauty and kindness. Had he not been so particular, chances might be he too would be settling into a match that seemed made in heaven. As he recalled, Marcus's eyes did light up when Lady Jenna entered any room where they might find themselves together. He could only pray he would find a bride that caused his own attentions to be thusly rapt with such delight, true love and fidelity.
He looked down at the small pile of letters in his lap, all clearly responses to the anonymous advertisement he had placed in the “Instructor & Select Weekly Advertiser.” It was in this journal he found other “mail order bride” advertisements where his would blend in comfortably and conveniently. He had decided not to place his unusual personal advertisement in the more widely read newspapers or journals of London, such as the “Courier & Evening Gazette” or “The Sun.” With his long legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, he thought his decision to be as discreet as possible a most wise one.
He picked up the Bible beside him on the small round linen covered table beside his armchair. When his untimely death of his parents had happened, he'd been keenly affected as a young boy of a mere ten years of age. His mother used to read passages from God's word to him every evening as a child and it was this connection with her that he kept tucked in his heart, day after day, night after night, as he marched on bravely without his beloved parents. Though his loss had long since healed, as best he thought it ever could, he never failed to take the time to read from the pages of his Bible when he had a chance, even if only a verse or two before he closed his eyes to the moon and stars of the night sky. Somehow over the years, he realized, as he sat there, those words had become a beacon and an anchor to his soul.
He respectfully bowed his head and silently prayed to the same God of those pages, the same God of his mother, asking God once again to help him find the perfect wife for him. For a moment, the room was so still one could have heard a pin drop; but it was in those kind of perfectly still and quiet moments that he sometimes could hear a whisper of hope in his heart or a word to gently nudge him on. As he prayed, his mind came to rest on the story of Rebecca at the well and how Abraham's servant had found a bride for Isaac. It occurred to him that his wife might not share his belief in a Savior, but that he might be the one to lead his wife to Christ but he hoped and prayed God would spare him this difficulty, if at all possible. He hoped he would be blessed to find a bride who shared his faith. It seemed at that moment, he found God preparing His heart for whatever situation the Lord might lead Him to, even if it meant not finding a bride at all.
When he felt a great sense of peace and comfort, he opened his eyes and could hear the sounds of the crackling fire beyond the hearth again. He felt the gentle summer breeze as the long blue linen curtains fluttered at the window to his right. It felt as if he had totally given this burden over to the Lord, come what may. Now he could only pray and believe that his answer was on the way, perhaps even among these very letters. He knew in his heart that there was no problem his God could not answer or solve for him. His eyes rested briefly on the matching blue coverlet on the mahogany four poster bed to his left and he wondered briefly if he would sleep alone for the rest of his days or if he would indeed find and pursue a bride from amongst the letters in his lap. Would he one day bring her here? He believed he would...
His eyes searched out the picture of his mother at his bedside, one that was an exact replica of the one in his bed chamber at Ivy Clifton Hall. It had been so long that he could only vaguely recall the softness of her touch, the gentleness of her voice, the vibrancy in her eyes.... and every now and again, like this evening when he thought of her, a spot seemed to well up in his heart and into his chest and catch at his throat as he choked back the feelings of loss that flooded over him briefly. No, he did not think the Lord in His goodness and mercy would leave him to face the rest of his life without a bride. He just knew instinctively that God had someone very special set aside for him.
God in His infinite mercy would not leave him without a bride after having taken his mother home so early. He thought of the verse in Jeremiah about how God had plans to do good things for him and felt assurance and faith begin to rise in his heart. Then he realized it might have been his own lack of faith which had prevented him from finding a wife sooner. Perhaps his standards had been too high. Perhaps he had been lacking in trust, too critical or too unfriendly. Perhaps he should remember to listen more closely for God's voice to guide him in this all important decision. It was just like the Father to teach him this important lesson about faith and courage and believing the best about God. Why hadn't he realized this sooner?
He felt his body take in a deep breath. His large, strong hands almost trembled slightly as he picked up the first envelope and stared at the handwriting. This could be the one that he might choose as a wife he was thinking. This could be the very letter and first connection with his future wife. It was such an important step. He pushed the feeling of apprehension away.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He set the letters aside. He decided to take a stance with one elbow on the mantel, to suggest he'd been standing there casually in thought for some time. This business of opening his very private mail from a potential wife was something that simply had to be done alone. “Come in!” He called out, trying not to feel annoyed at this disruption.
The butler poked his head in around the door and seeing the Duke there by the fireplace he said, “Excuse me Your Grace, I thought I mind find you here. Will you be requiring anything else this evening Sir?”
Seeing the tray of steaming tea and warm fluffy scones and raspberry preserves the butler had the good foresight to be carrying, William thought back to his solitary dinner of mince meat pie, baked squash, boiled potatoes, a few slices of roast beef and gravy earlier in the evening and said, “Yes, tea would be a fine indulgence, Charles. My appetite has been ferocious today.”
“I thought you might be thinking too hard again.” The butler busied himself with placing the tray on a four wheeled mahogany cart in the room for such deliveries as these, as he did every evening when the Duke was in residence. He poured a cup of hot tea from the steaming teapot, just the way William liked his tea, with no cream and a very little honey.
He handed the Duke a cup of the tea and then set about smothering a scone with a generous amount of butter and a precisely level spoonful of the raspberry preserves, something he'd done for the Master and his brother every evening since their mother's death whenever he'd had the opportunity. It had been something their mother had done for Marcus and William each evening before bed when they were small children. Charles had continued this ritual to comfort the boys after the loss of their parents. They'd been very young and the accident had been so unexpected. It had been hard for the boys to cope. This act of compassion and kindness had not been lost on William; there had been times when he'd appreciated it more than he could find words to say. It was such a fragile part of his memories that he could never bring himself to say anything about it. Charles had a feeling that both brothers, even though they were full grown men now, appreciated this small tradition and reminder of their mother. It seemed to be something neither Charles nor the boys had wanted to let go of, yet none could discuss it. This small courtesy had been a soothing act of comfor
t that had helped them through the time of their worst grief. It brought back happy memories of their mother tucking the boys into bed and reading them a night time story and passages from the Bible. Always, a passage from the Bible...
“So, my good man Charles, are the wagon and mules rented and ready for tomorrow?” he asked with a perfectly straight face as he waited for the steaming tea to cool, as if it were an everyday occurrence for him to rent a farmer's old rickety wooden wagon and a pair of tired mules rather than ride about in a barouche with a fine set of flashy horses he already owned and stabled.
“Quite ready,” Charles replied, wonderingly, spreading the preserves thinly across two scones. “The wagon and the mules were delivered today as specified.” Who was he to question William regarding his doings and comings and goings? He was rather curious as to why a man of his status would require an old rickety wagon and two mules. It had taken him some doing to acquire the same.
To Find a Duchess Page 3
